Tag: stars align

Posted in love, poetry

Starlight

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Starlight There’s a time of night that slices bravery into pieces, and maybe those are the stars, just broken bits of your soul flickering like beacons calling to your physical body, just pieces of your heart figuring out how to keep shining when the expanse of the universe stands between reuniting you and those lonely bits. And somehow your eyes keep twinkling in those hours right after dusk, when the street lights ease into consciousness, illuminating the shadowed world around, reflected in the damp whites of your eyes, the great big world swallowing your courage to face the dark, to face tomorrow when the stars above seem so far away. I’m standing still, looking up at those pieces of me, the freckles of the sky, and I’m thinking about how random they’re scattered, no sense of alignment, chaotic, like settled confetti, and I’m wondering if I’ll ever find all those pieces, those bits of bravery lost to the clouds. And I keep thinking maybe that’s why I’m terrified to give my heart away, scared what would happen if the stars started to move. I wish I could close my eyes and see a map of where they’re headed, those bits of me wandering the universe, waiting, but nothing’s there behind my lids. —Leanne Rebecca

It’s an Ingrid Michaelson night tonight.

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Time and Space

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Time and Space He grabbed my hand as we walked through the restaurant to our table. He’d never touched me like that, so declarative so suggestive of intention, as if expressing ownership. I liked knowing he’d made room in his ego for my occupancy, reading into the gesture all the way to my seat, writing futures in fantasy, imagining what would happen if he never let go. But the images crumbled jarred into nothing as I blinked away the 3 am dream, woken by the buzzing of my space heater and an empty hand, eyes refusing to adjust to the night in the absence of stars, the alignment that skipped over my heart.